I shuffle up to the panel and type in the eight-digit code—12971912. Each number corresponds with the letters in Abigail, with the last two numbers representing the final letter in her first name. There is a beeping sound and the door slides open automatically.
I enter my safe haven, a place of retreat from the normal monotony of everyday boredom. The place is a mess—I really need to clean up soon—but beautiful in its own right. Piles and piles of old paperback and hardback novels are stacked up taller than me in several places, threatening to fall over on some poor, unsuspecting soul. Some have covers but most are stripped books, missing covers and even a few pages. I had to use my imagination when filling the gaps in some of the books I've read.
In addition to all of the books, I have random junk that I've acquired over the years lying everywhere—power cells, broken light fixtures, scorched computer hard drives, mother boards not in working condition, torn clothes, tool kits, a couple glitchy digital scanners, and other crap that could come in handy one day.
I have light in here, so I shut down the torch in my hands. Like the door, the lights are automatic. As the door closes behind me, the overhead lamps snap on. They are dim but more than enough illumination for me to see.
There's a sofa and a bed in here as well, but that's as much furniture as I could fit with all the junk. The sofa's for me to lounge and read, while the bed is just in case I ever have to spend the night here. I have a feeling that I might be occupying that bed soon, if the cops are on to me.
I drop the backpack onto the couch. Then, I look around. If I had more time, I would clean up right now. But I can't at the moment. I locate my laptop underneath an old Blu-ray player I've been tinkering with, trying to figure out how it works exactly. I've heard of the old movie players and they fascinate me. There are also a bunch of CDs from two or three decades ago piled high and nearly as bad as my stacks of books. I enjoy old music more so than contemporary music. It was a lot more rocking back then. Music nowadays is bland.
I place the laptop onto the sofa next to the backpack and remove the envelope from my jacket. I plan to leave the envelope and whatever is hidden inside here. I may need it as leverage against the Entity or whoever else. And when I get the chance later, I'm going to return and look up some info on the Internet, to learn a few sure-fire ways of cracking digital ciphers. I'm not necessarily inexperienced but my hacking skills need a lot of work. The security of digital ciphers can be as complicated as the chips inside of IDs.
Then, I leave my hidey-hole, making sure I secure it properly behind me. Instead of backtracking to the manhole entrance I just used, I head in the opposite direction. With the beam of my flashlight guiding me along, as well as smells that are somewhat better than mold, I make my way through the underground network of tunnels. I pass through an ancient cistern that was only used during the development of the island nearly a century ago. The tunnels twist and turn like a labyrinth but I know them like the back of my hand. I also know the location of the exit that will bring me out into an area of the city closest to the bar. I prefer to travel by monorail but I feel like that's not the best option for me right now. I'll feel too exposed on a monorail around other people, who can turn me over to the authorities if my picture popped up on the evening news.
My only concerns down here are the drifters that lurk in the dark. These people are mostly hungry and don't mean me any harm. Nonetheless, I could never be too careful. Some people are nuts and may attack me on sight, driven by some kind of ravenous-induced frenzy. There are active hobo camps nearby so I avoid those, sticking to the routes where I know that SAFE rebels often patrol or have established temporary residences. A few black market dealers have set up shop in the cistern, a bazaar of sorts where I purchase most of the supplies I need to carry out my Messenger assignments.
So far, the government has not raided the underground. I always wonder why not? If the Amber Army is as powerful as people say, then they should have no problem wiping out the resistance down here. But the SAFE rebels are very prepared for a full-scale assault on their hideouts. Traps that the soldiers of Amber Army won't understand awaits them, simply crude traps that can trouble anyone who relies heavily on new technology. I have to be careful where I go while in the sewers, but fortunately my ties to SAFE guarantees that I won't run into one of the traps. I've heard that some of them are brutal and can kill you instantly, like a concealed pit of spikes tipped with excrement.
I pass through tunnel after tunnel with no altercations concerning the hungry. I encounter a few SAFE rebels who I don't recognize. They aim trained weapons at me but when they find out I'm a friendly, they allow me to pass through the sectors they control. Soon, I reach the exit and I climb out of the tunnels, emerging into an alley behind a couple of restaurants.
I cover the hole and step out of the alley, blending in with a few drone-like pedestrians. They are all wearing dark colored clothes, however, while I'm in a robin's egg blue jacket and a pair of blue jeans decorated with colorful rhinestones. My shoes are white patent leather, glimmering in the light of the setting sun.
My outfit is about the only thing that stands out around here. I've travelled this area of town many times before but it looks different today. It's like I'm viewing the world in monochrome. All colors except for dark blues, browns, grays, and blacks, have been zapped. The billboards overhead have lost their neon hues. Now, they project messages with white letters on black backgrounds. What has happened? If the government is trying a new way to advertise to the public, then I don't think their new marketing scheme will be very effective.
People stare at me and I wish I was invisible. No one says anything and no one looks at me suspiciously though. Stupid Purge. It's hard for me to figure out what people think of me when all of the faces around me are blank and unreadable.
I ignore them as best as I could and find the bar easy enough. It's a brightly lit place, packed with patrons sipping on water instead of alcohol. There's not much conversing inside and if there is, the conversations are always concerning the same topics—politics, politics, and more politics with an occasional talk about work business.
Several tables are scattered about around the circular bar in the center of the room. I walk past all of this, wondering which one of the Entity's contacts I'm going to speak with today. Will it be a person I've met with before or will it be someone new? I make my way towards the back of the bar to a dimly lit area with a few booths. I slide into the last one near the restrooms. It's empty as expected.
My instructions were to be here by six and I'm a few minutes early. I take in the sights, trying to spot someone in the crowd weaving his or her way towards me but I see no one heading my way except for a waitress. She offers me complimentary water in a tall glass, which I accept although I don't want to drink it. Anything else I want to drink, I have to pay for.
I wait out the last few minutes nervously. No one pays me any attention but it feels like all eyes are upon me. I shouldn't have agreed to meet here. Someone will recognize me and make the connection to the girl who was discovered inside of Emerson's suite at BioLife right after he was murdered. The cops will come soon to arrest me. Or maybe I'm just being a little bit too paranoid? Again, I remind myself that I was in disguise. No one could ever recognize me. I looked too much like Ava Suarez.
Then, the time for the contact to arrive comes and goes. Five minutes pass and I'm starting to get anxious, although my nerves increase. I'm beginning to worry when the last person I expect to see right now, slides into the booth opposite of me.
Chapter Seven, Part Two
Charlotte
"Lilly, what are you doing here?" I ask, taken aback. Quickly, I adjust my facial expression so no one will spot me breaking the law. "I'm waiting for someone, so you might have to—"
"You're waiting for me," Lilly tells me calmly, her face as blank as a digital board before my teacher displays computer screens upon its white surface. "I'm your contact for the Entity."
&n
bsp; It takes me a while to process this information, like a computer without a dual quantum core, the fastest data processor currently available on the market. Once I do, I'm in disbelief. I didn't know that Lilly was working for the Entity. She never told me this but I assume she has a good reason for it. I knew she was a full-fledged member of SAFE but I never imagined this.
Lilly Hendricks. If ever I have a friend, she is it. She shares my affinity for the arts. I love music and she adores paintings and sculptures. Lilly also shares in my dislike of our government and their silly laws.
She's slightly shorter than I, with golden tresses that remind me of the goddess, Sif, who I read about once in an anthology about the pantheon of Norse deities. Her eyes are nearly the same color as her hair and somehow resemble liquid honey. I guess she's a pretty young woman, only a few years older than me. She has become a famous actress, having acted since she was a small child. Fame works differently when everyone is supposed to be reliant upon the Purge. Everyone recognizes Lilly's face, but no one acknowledges her acting talents. No one, except for me. Whenever I see one of Lilly's new movies, I tell her what a splendid job she did. It's difficult to take the Purge and act like a person who doesn't inhale the gas; however, it's ten times harder to not inhale the Purge but act like a person on the medicine portraying someone who's not—if that makes any sense at all.
"When did this happen?" I question her, suppressing the smile playing at my lips. I sip the water I never wanted in the first place to hide the twitching of my lips.
"Recently," Lilly replies simply, although I can hear the pride in her voice. I've heard from some of the revolutionaries that it's a dream to be employed directly by the Entity. I'm sure that money is a factor for a lot of them, more so than the efforts the Entity is making to instigate a war against the Core, but Lilly doesn't need the money. Her motivation has always been to advance SAFE in any way that she can. I admire her courage. I wish I could do the same but I have a lot more to lose than her.
Lilly gives me a once over and that's when I notice her drab clothing. For as long as I have known her, Lilly always wore something nice and elegant, outfits with a lot of color that often show a lot of leg. But this evening, she's garbed in a plain black coat and a pair of gray khakis. Maybe she's wearing one of her costumes for the movie she's currently filming.
"You're very brave," she tells me suddenly, her voice low.
I narrow my eyes, confused, before widening my eyes to their normal size again. "What do you mean?"
Lilly observes me for a moment longer before shrugging. "You know what I mean but that's beside the point. We have much bigger matters to discuss and not enough time to discuss them." She glances at her watch. "I'm expected at the studio in about an hour."
I'm tempted to press the matter further but I decide to drop it for now. For some reason, Lilly not telling me why I'm brave bothers me. Did I do something wrong? Does she know something I don't know? Does she suspect that I killed a government official?
"Where's the package that you were suppose to deliver to Noah Emerson?" Lilly asks me.
"I've hidden it in my secret place," I respond automatically and for a fleeting second, she seems disappointed that I hadn't brought the package along. Lilly knows about my hidey-hole but she doesn't know its location. No one does, not even my father or Abigail. I don't want anyone implicated if the Secret Police ever discover my concealed chamber underground. I lean closer to Lilly and whisper, "Emerson is dead, Lilly. He was dead before I showed up. I had to get rid of any evidence for now and the package was one of them."
Lilly keeps her face impassive when she says, "I know. His death has been all over the news today."
I should really start watching the news, even though I hate it because it's the government way of showing that they're in charge. The news is always quick to report on the latest criminal who was captured smiling in public. It's always the same broadcast over and over again. What happened to the good old days when the news was moderately appealing? It was always bleak, sure, but at least all of the segments were diverse and mostly hard-hitting, with stories that told of a nation's dire struggle against natural disasters or a heart-warming scene where a little boy was rescued from the woods. The news of Paradise never touches on anything remotely interesting.
"Was there anything mentioned about a possible murderer?" I ask hesitantly, expecting the worse possible answer from her.
Lilly shakes her head. Before she can say anything more, the waitress notices her arrival finally and brings her complimentary water as well. Lilly nods her approval and waits for the woman to stalk off before she speaks again. "Nothing. If they have a suspect, they will withhold that information until they're certain they have the right person. You know how our lovely government likes to unveil information to the public—with grand theatrics."
Not anymore, I think. Viewing the billboards outside earlier causes me to believe that the government has lost its flair for getting stuff out to their sedated citizens.
"They're after someone who they can pin this tragedy on," Lilly continues, after pausing to sip her water. "I'm sure of it."
"Yeah," I agree, unable to stop my eyes from bulging when I say my next words. "They're after me."
"No way," Lilly says in disbelief, surprised. "You didn't, did you?"
I shake my head. "Of course not. I'm not a killer." I notice that my voice was rising in pitch, so I work hard to lower it. "I don't care how much I despise everything that Paradise represents, I could never kill someone. Emerson was dead before I arrived at his suite." Then, I quickly proceed to tell her my theory before I can stop myself. "Either someone knew I was coming and didn't want the package delivered to him, or someone has a personal vendetta against him."
"Which would make sense considering he's a politician," Lilly states. "It could be a faction of SAFE, but most rebels know not to disrupt any transactions involving the Entity. Plus, Emerson was different than your typical Parliament representative."
"Different?"
Lilly nods. "He disagreed with a lot of laws and often voiced his opinion in such a crafty way that he avoided jail time. In recent sessions of Parliament, he had been pushing for a bill that would introduce a controlled experiment where people can display emotions and scientists would monitor how they act. It was obvious that he didn't believe that emotions led to a decline in human civilization, as everyone else around here believes. He had a lot of enemies, so there's no telling who wanted him dead."
"I don't know who did it but I'm scared," I admit to her. "I'm terrified that the cops will come after me soon. I don't know what to do."
"I know the feeling," Lilly breathes. She reaches across the table and takes one of my hands into both of hers. At once, I experience a peculiar sensation like a painless static shock. Lilly's touch always makes me feel . . . different somehow. I know that sounds crazy but it does. "But everything will be all right."
I nearly feed her a look that demands to know how she can feel the same way that I do at the moment. She wasn't the one who saw Emerson's dead body lying there on the floor like some gruesome version of the Vitruvian Man. But the strange sensation sweeps throughout my entire body then and I feel at peace.
"How so?" I ask, keeping the frustration out of my voice.
Lilly releases me hand and sits back in her side of the booth. "The Entity has gone silent."
I don't follow her. I asked how everything was going to be all right but she mistook my question. "What do you mean by 'gone silent'?"
"He's off the grid right now. No one, not even his closest allies, knows where he's hiding. The Secret Police is on to him. Somehow one of their agents has infiltrated his ranks and he fears that his true identity will be discovered. Until the mole is whacked, then he will be using a lot more decoys than usual?"
I almost cock an eyebrow. "Decoys?"
Lilly sips her water. "Well, you can't expect someone like the Entity to go traipsing around in public, can you? He's enemy number
one on the government's hit list. So, to keep his or her identity a secret, the Entity employs a lot of decoys, agents who pretend to be him when dealing with his top associates."
"So, if one of the decoys is captured—"
"—then the authorities will quickly find out that the Entity has hoodwinked them yet again. It's brilliant, if you ask me." If we were in private, Lilly would have laughed then. I enjoy hearing her laugh, considering I don't hear it very often. It sounds like the bark of a seal mixed with a croak of a frog. Well, at least that's the best way I can describe the sound. I remember when I first heard it. It was sometime last year. She and I were sitting outside of her gorgeous seaside house, digging our feet into the sandy shore and swapping stories of our adventures concerning SAFE. I told her a hilarious story involving the exposure of the undergarments of a nurse pursuing me when I broke into a clinic for a sample of a serum that compels a person to tell the truth. Lilly cracked up when I called what the nurse was wearing "granny pannies".
"But before going off grid, the Entity did communicate once last message to me through a secure channel," Lilly informs me, her golden eyes boring into my hazel ones. The intensity of her gaze forces me to briefly look away. As the sun drops beneath the horizon, the bar starts to empty, the patrons heading home. Nothing happened much after dark in Paradise, except various SAFE operations and the patrols of cops looking for signs of nocturnal trouble. If you seek excitement in Paradise, then you have to be a morning person. Only the most excitement you'll receive during the daylight hours is watching someone being handcuffed and tossed into the back of a paddy wagon.
"What message?" I can't help it. Despite everything, I'm curious.
"The Entity knows everything, including the friendship between you and me. He wanted me to help you hack the cipher so we can find out what's hidden inside. The Entity suspects something very crucial to the success of the rebellion against the Core, but he's not a hundred percent sure."
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